


All These Secret Places

by Randominity



Series: All These Secret Places [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub Play, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Kink Exploration, Kink Negotiation, Light Dom/sub, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Pegging, Phone Sex, Sex Toys, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 14:57:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randominity/pseuds/Randominity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis likes that Eleanor knows what she wants.</p><p>
  <i>"Is that-- did you do that?" he asks, rubbing his thumb soothingly over the spots where he'd dug in with his fingers. "Is that what you meant? About leading me around?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"About you liking it?" Eleanor says. "Yeah," she nods. "I had an inkling about you."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	All These Secret Places

Louis and Eleanor have been seeing each other for months before he takes her home to London.

At first it's because he's so busy with the tour and promotional work, barely enough time to himself to take care of himself let alone a relationship when he gets back to the flat. It's whirlwind; short stops in Manchester to pop by the Uni, quick coffee dates, never staying the night, but Louis likes it. He likes the relative anonymity of Manchester, the fact that no one yet ties him to this place, dating someone the way he did before The X-Factor.

And Louis likes Eleanor; he likes the way she fits under his arm, and the way she turns her face into his neck when he pulls her close. He likes the way she slides their palms together when they're watching the telly and the way she looks when she walks around her flat in just her pants and his shirt, oversized and barely covering her bum. He likes the way she took his hand the first time they had sex and showed him how she liked it, the way she didn't take it for granted that he would know. 

He likes that Eleanor knows what she wants, and he knows if they keep going together he'll have to introduce her to his mum, that they'll be seen out and about in London eventually, but for a while he likes that Eleanor is his, that what they have is for them alone.

 

**

 

On their first day out in London they go for coffee first, then shopping, and Louis is ready to take Eleanor back to the flat when he spies the handful of paps stood outside the doors of the shop, and pulls up short.

"Oh, lovely," he says flatly, pressing his lips together into a line. "The paps are here. _Yay_."

Eleanor looks over at him, confused. "What's that mean?" she asks. "Aren't they everywhere? Doesn't this sort of thing always happen?"

Louis bites his lip. "Not with you," he says. "It's never happened with you." Fans he can handle, and paps when he's with the lads, but, strangely enough, not this. The paps might not even be there for him, he hopes, but he's not ready, he realises. He's not ready to share Eleanor, to talk about her except on his own terms, and and he's about to lose that. He stalls, squeezing Eleanor's hand, wanting to pull her into the back of the shop with him until everyone goes away.

"Hey, listen," Eleanor says suddenly, tugging on his hand until he looks over at her. "Hey," she repeats. "I'm nobody, right?"

He shakes his head. "What? No, you're--"

"To them," Eleanor points out towards the doors. "I'm nobody, they don't know who I am."

"No," Louis says, not following. He frowns. "What's this have to--"

"Come with me, then," Eleanor says, and takes a step forward until their arms are stretched between them. "Come along," she repeats.

Louis glances over at the doors, at the paps looking for all the world like loiterers, cameras held at the ready in the hopes of peeping in. Then he looks over at Eleanor, who jerks her head toward the exit with a smile, and steps with her, lets her tug him out the doors and past the camera flashes and the odd shout of his name.

They get into his car and he manages to wait until they've been on the road a while, silent, stopped at a red light, before he leans over and kisses her swiftly on the mouth. "Thanks," he says, taking her hand, "for what you did back there." His heart is still racing, and he's not sure why, because they hadn't run anywhere. There hadn't even been that many paps, not too many photos. There was just something about the way Eleanor had urged him to come with her, as though she'd had a plan and he needed to follow whether he understood it or not. It made him feel a little excited.

It makes him uneasy, too, so he scrunches up his nose and makes his voice high-pitched and screechy. "You're, like, my hero!" he says, in an American accent, and lets go of her hand to give his attention back to the gearshift.

"Sometimes a person just needs a firm hand," Eleanor says, groping at his thigh, and he bats at her.

"Is that what this is?" he asks, catching her fingertips with his own. "Is this a firm hand?" He pulls her hand closer, kisses her palm before releasing it.

Eleanor's gaze bores into the side of his head where he can sense her staring. "You really liked what I did," she says, after a pause.

He glances at her, then back at the road. "I just said I did, didn't I?" He shakes his head, laughing at himself. It's not a big deal, really. Just a little assertiveness in a girl, is all it is. He likes that. He's always liked that.

"Would you like me to do it again?"

This time when he laughs, he rolls his eyes as well. "What," he says, "we'll just call up the paps to come round our flat and you can tell them off for me?"

"No," Eleanor says, her serious expression a counterpoint to his dismissal as she replaces her hand on his thigh. "Lead you around like that. I could do without asking first, next time, and then you wouldn't have to feel uncomfortable."

Louis feels warm from his neck to the tips of his ears. "It'd take a load off my shoulders, wouldn't it?" he says, trying for light-hearted. "Fit new girlfriend leading me round by the nose."

Eleanor tightens her hand over his thigh. "You don't need to try and justify it, Louis," she says, after a pause. "It's all right to just say yes."

"I-- I don't think I need that," he tells her quietly. It's the sort of thing they have security for, after all, he thinks. It's nothing, really. It just doesn't seem... necessary.

"All right," she says, and lets it go.

 

**

 

The thing is that it happens again, on another date, with paps outside a Starbucks, and then with fans outside another shop. Eleanor gets on Louis' right side and tugs him along with a look, as though she's asking permission without saying a word, and he finds it easy, somehow, to come along with wherever she's going. He finds it easy to follow her lead, and later, when he has her pressed up against the back of the lift in his flat, fingers unfastening the top button of her shirt, she says, "I like it, too, you know."

They make it inside the flat, bags rustling behind them, and Harry looks over the back of the sofa as they stumble by. "Looks like you did loads of shopping," he says. "What is that, clothes?"

"Yes," Louis says, just to give an answer, as Eleanor pulls him across the flat to his room. "We're about to have a fashion show."

Harry kneels up on the sofa, crossing his arms over the back. "I love fashion shows!" he says delightedly, and Louis can see Eleanor press a hand to her mouth to keep from laughing aloud.

"Sorry Haz," he calls over his shoulder. "I'm afraid you're not invited."

There's a pause, and Louis kicks his door closed on Harry's belated " _Oh_ , you said _fashion show_. I hate those, they're boring."

 

**

 

"Mmmm," Eleanor says, leaning back to admire Louis even as she rotates her hips on him. "I like your arms when you do that. Do you think you could stay like that?"

Louis looks at his biceps out of the corner of his eye, the muscles contracted from the way he's gripping the mattress above his head. "I'm not sure why I'd want to, honestly," he grins, bringing a hand forward to palm her hip, to get her to move again, and he huffs a laugh when she pins it back.

" _Stayyy_ ," she drawls, and Louis sighs.

"All right, all right," he says. "You like my arms like this. It's noted."

"Shhh," Eleanor says, "don't say anything," and Louis giggles, making a face at her right before she clenches her pussy around him and makes him gasp. He watches her move, the way her hair falls into her face when she leans forward to take him in deeply, the peek-a-boo of her nipples between the strands as she rides him. He uses the mattress as leverage to push up into her, meeting her rhythm, and her breath quickens, little whimpers escaping her lips as she speeds up.

It strikes him, then, how fit she is, how much he wants to touch her, get her off with his fingers the way she likes it. "Do you want me to--" he starts to offer, and Eleanor's eyes snap open, fiery as her mouth draws into a line. She reaches back behind her and pinches the inside of his thigh, twisting the skin and catching a hair between her fingers when she pulls back. "Hey!" he cries. "What's that fo--"

"I told you," Eleanor says, voice low, even as her her breath comes more quickly, "not to say anything. You can do that, right?"

Louis stares up at her, stunned by her sternness with his mouth open, sound caught in his throat. He's done a lot of things when asked, and he's sometimes turned it into something else for a laugh or acted like it was a favour, but he's never been properly scolded, made to feel like he's broken a promise. There's no one else in the room, but he manages to feel embarrassed all the same, and he closes his mouth before remembering that Eleanor had asked him a question. He nods, and Eleanor nods back, looking pleased.

She tilts her head back, closing her eyes again, almost as though he _did_ touch her. "Good," she says, and blows an errant curl out of her face even as she flicks her hair. "That's good."

The faster Eleanor rocks her hips on him, the hotter Louis finds it that he's virtually restrained, and the harder it is for him to match her speed without holding on to her. He starts to strain, close to coming, moaning on every breath, and Eleanor lets out a soft cry, hunching her shoulders and reaching forward to balance herself with her hands on his hips. She rises off of him in one smooth movement and moves up the bed over his chest, still on her knees.

"Wait, wait," she tells him with a breathless kiss, her small hands briefly closing around his wrists as he gasps against her lips. "I wanna ride your face," she says, and Louis' hips grind upwards in desperation at the thought. She budges up the remaining distance and he opens his mouth to her, making helpless little sounds muffled into her clit. She keeps up her quick rhythm, rubbing against his flattened tongue, and he's just getting used to the taste of her, her smell already so familiar. She's getting more vocal and the sound goes right to his cock, which is screaming for attention, his pulse rushing in his ears, but the pressure she's applying to his wrists is barely there, and Louis wonders, a little defiantly, when he became so well-behaved.

Eleanor comes with a choked cry, jolting her hips over Louis' face and letting go of his wrists to support herself by her hands against the wall. She sits back on his chest for a moment with a satisfied sigh. "You were so good," she says, crawling back down the length of his body, "staying still for me," and she sinks back down over him, working over him slowly, deliberately. "You can move your arms now," she says, "go on," and Louis lets go of the mattress and digs his fingers into her hips so hard he's afraid they'll bruise. He pulls her down over him to match his thrusts upward and it's only a few more moments until he's coming hard with a hoarse moan, toes curling.

"So good," Eleanor says again, humming contentedly and petting his stomach with her hands for a moment before she climbs off of him and curls up next to his body. "You can talk again," she adds, "it's all right," and it's as though she flicked a switch on the thoughts swirling around in his brain.

"My fucking _god_ , Eleanor," he gasps, turning on his side to face her. He feels strange, and shaky, a bit light-headed and affectionate, like he wants to crawl all over Eleanor and hug her close and not let go until morning.

"You all right?" she asks. "How do you feel?"

"A bit tipsy, I think," he answers honestly. "Is that-- did you do that?" he asks, rubbing his thumb soothingly over the spots where he'd dug in with his fingers. "Is that what you meant? About leading me around?"

"About you liking it?" Eleanor says. "Yeah," she nods. "I had an inkling about you."

He grins. "You sat on my face."

"I think you liked that nearly as much as I did, as well," Eleanor laughs, and then she looks at him, biting her lip thoughtfully. "So you want me to do that again sometime?"

"Just like that?" Louis says, and puts his hands back above his head to illustrate, but Eleanor shakes her head.

"There's lots of different ways we can do it," she says. "There's loads of stuff we could do, like-- like leading you around. But only if you want to, yeah?"

Louis' never known anyone quite like her, never felt anything quite like this. He knows it isn't love, but he senses that it's rare, that Eleanor knows things and that she's willing to teach him, and Louis' never met a new experience he wasn't willing to take on head-first.

"Let's give it a try," Louis says, sliding his arms around her to pull her close, and breathes her in. "It's not weird, is it, do you think?" he asks after a moment. "It's not like I secretly think you're my mum or something, right?"

"I sincerely hope you don't think I'm your mum," Eleanor says.

"I'm absolutely certain I don't think you're my mum," he swears. "I'm already sorry I even brought her up."

 

**

 

Eleanor calls him for the first time one night when he's on tour, sat on his hotel bed staring dazedly at his laptop. He mutes the volume and tucks his mobile between his ear and shoulder to answer. "Hey babe," he says. "It's what, half four in the morning for you?"

"I missed you; I thought I could catch you before you went to sleep," she replies. "What are you doing?"

"Watching pornography and thinking of you," he says, which is the truth, but he says it jokingly enough that he can deny it if it turns out to bother her. They haven't exactly had the 'how do we feel about pornography' conversation yet, and he's not sure he's up for it tonight.

To his relief, Eleanor laughs. "It's nice to know I've not been replaced," she says.

"You could never be replaced by--" Louis glances at the clip title-- "Hot European Babes... something something." There's an 'unsuspecting' brunette on the screen, answering her door to a camera crew.

"You're not touching yourself right now, are you?" Eleanor asks.

"No," he says. He's not, exactly; the hand down his pants is there more as an 'always prepared' measure. "I am one hundred percent focused on you, right now."

"Well, I've four hours until my lecture," Eleanor offers, "and I'll need all the caffeine in the flat to get through it as it is, so go ahead; we may as well make the most of it."

Louis tightens the hand in his pants. "Are you serious?" The brunette is down to her knickers, the cameraman's cock in her mouth. "You too?" he asks, and suddenly feels very exposed, though Eleanor can't see him, can't see what he's watching, can't know anything at all if he doesn't tell her. He breathes out on a laugh. "Should I ask what you're wearing, or is that too cliché?"

"I'm wearing my Uni jumper and pants," Eleanor says, and it's just as Louis has pictured her, leg tucked under herself on her bed, perhaps with her hair tucked into a sloppy knot at the base of her skull.

He smooths a drop of pre-come away with his thumb and slides it under his foreskin. "Are you wet?" he asks, voice low.

"Hmm," Eleanor makes a considering noise. "A fair bit. Wet enough to take you, at least."

"I could help with that," Louis tells her. "I could put my mouth on you, I think," and he leans back, tugging his pants down past his balls, over his thighs. He puts his mobile on speaker and sets it on the bed next to his head, stroking himself slowly with a tight grip.

"Getting wetter," she says, smile evident in her voice. "I might not need your help after all."

"I volunteer," Louis says, just a bit breathless, twisting his hand over the head of his cock. "I'm just a nice guy like that."

"Yeah," Eleanor laughs, and then her breath catches. "Real-- real generous lad."

"Have you got your hand in your knickers, then?" Louis says. The brunette is blowing the production assistant, now, sloppily, with the cameraman fucking her from behind.

"Fingers in me, now," Eleanor says urgently, and Louis groans, feels another bubble of pre-come rise wetly to the tip of his cock. He trails through it with his fingers, biting his lip, thinking of how wet Eleanor would be for him, how wet she must be around her own fingers. "I bet you've taken your pants off properly," Eleanor says, and he shakes his head, his other hand slipping down his chest to cup his balls.

"Not quite," he pants. "Not sure I'll even make it that far, to be honest."

"I would go down on you like that," Eleanor says. "I would love that, to lick where your hands are, over your fingers and take you down all the way, where you can't stretch your legs apart because your pants are round your thighs--"

"El," Louis can hear his own voice go husky as he bucks up into his hand, knees coming up to plant his feet on the bed for leverage.

"You could fuck my mouth, Lou," she says, "I-- you know I can't deepthroat but I'd want it, you know I'd just-- tell you you're allowed, tell you to go for it--"

"Fuck, El," Louis hisses, closing his eyes on the brunette being double-teamed by the camera crew, speeding up his fist and keeping it tight around his cockhead.

"I can hear you," Eleanor says, her voice high and breathy. "Your breathing goes different when you're close-- can you hear it?"

"I'm not-- yet--" Louis gulps, and he can't, not over the roaring in his own ears, the sound of skin on skin as he wanks himself. It's not something he thinks about, really. "You stop breathing," he gets out. "When you're--"

"It's better that way, sometimes," Eleanor whimpers.

"Is it," Louis says, as lightly as he can manage with his hips fucking into the air.

"Could you tell me when," she goes on. "When you're close, right before you--"

"You already know," he whines, "God, you _said_ \--"

"But you could tell me," Eleanor says, "I wanna hear you say it-- when you know--" she cuts herself off with a moan, and then there's a series of them, and she cries out, a shuddery sound in her throat that has him on the brink, sensation and warmth pooling in his gut, his cock at the centre of his world.

"I'm gonna come _now_ ," he blurts, and he hears it in himself then, the struggle for breath even as he breezes past the point of no return. "I'm-- _god_ , _fuck_ \--" and he thrashes a little on the bed as he comes, as his come slips over his fingers, dotting his stomach.

"Oh, god, exactly like that," Eleanor says, louder, "exactly, _perfect_ ," and Louis' cock manages a half-hearted twitch as she manages to come again, the sound muffled somehow - whether by her hand or a pillow, he can't be sure. He's strangely pleased, not just by the ability to make her come again with the sound of his own voice, but that somehow he'd made her happy with such a simple thing.

He trails his fingers through the come on his stomach, grimacing as it smears through the hair beneath his navel, and waits for her to come down to earth again. "So," he tries, when her breathing has slowed a bit. "Phone sex, eh?" They share a nervous giggle.

"Could you keep doing that with me?" Eleanor asks, rustling about in the background - getting herself dressed again, maybe. "Keep telling me when you're gonna come, like that, when we're together?"

"Yeah, sure," Louis says, groping around for the tissues he'd rested next to his laptop for cleanup purposes. "I didn't realise you had such a thing for the sound of my voice."

"I have such a thing for you knowing yourself," Eleanor says, and she hums happily. "I find it incredibly sexy."

"I have a thing for--" Louis considers it, as he wipes off his belly. 'You asking me to tell you things about myself' doesn't seem to cover it. "Your multiple orgasms," he says.

She laughs. "I'd go for a third," she says, "but I think I'll nap before my lecture instead. You'll get some rest tonight, yeah?"

"I'm halfway to passed out already," Louis tells her, and chucks the soiled tissue somewhere in the vicinity of the bin.

They ring off, and Louis turns over on his side, drowsy. He thinks about the warm feeling he got when Eleanor told him he was perfect, and he wonders who doesn't want to be complimented? But he's not felt pleased like that, not like before when Eleanor had called him good; not just like he'd done something well, but that he'd done something _right_ , and he thinks-- he thinks he'd like Eleanor to ask him to do something right again.

 

**

 

He loves her, he realises, somewhere between the miles and ocean between them, somewhere between her soft hair and small hands and her secret challenges for him. He knows he's in love with her even as she hangs back when she greets him at the airport, then pulls him back into his flat after her.

 

**

 

“What if I told you you couldn’t come?” Eleanor says suddenly, surprisingly steady given the way her chest is heaving beneath him, the sheen of sweat on her forehead, the wisps of curl at her hairline sticking to her skin. Louis slows a bit, confused, rocking his hips into her distractedly.

“What do you mean by that?” he asks, breath hitching, and she puts one hand behind her head, propping herself up closer to him. She touches the tip of his nose with the index finger of her other hand, considering.

“I mean,” she says, “what if you said you were going to come—” she draws a breath— “and I said you couldn’t? That I didn’t want you to?”

She tilts her hips up, drawing him in deeper, and he dips his head, looking down between the length of their bodies. He’s suddenly very aware of the implications of her question, that it’s possible that he won’t be allowed the orgasm he’s working towards right now, fucking her in shallow thrusts in the middle of their bed. He thinks about how it would literally be under her control and his hips stutter at the thought; he bites his lip and tries to focus on her face and he finds he has to fight for enough air to say, “well, I guess— I guess I wouldn’t, then.”

Her expression grows very soft, and Louis wonders just how she can do that, when she’d been coming undone beneath him not a few minutes earlier, whining under his touch. “Would you be able to do it?” she says. “Do you think you could just stop if I asked you to, just stop and pull out—”

“Oh, god,” Louis groans, and rests his forehead against her collarbone, screwing his hips in deeply, fearful of moving too much, too fast, his heart thudding in his ribcage.

“—and lay down and go to sleep, hard, just like that,” Eleanor says, panting slightly, “like nothing ever happened, just because I said you couldn’t have it?”

He’s not even sure he could, burning up at the thought of it, but he would try, for her - how could he not? “I would,” he mumbles against the swell of her breast, “if you asked me to,” and he’s almost there, already tense half with dread and half arousal, until the question has filled his mind to the point that instead of his usual warning what comes out, brokenly, is “can I— can I come tonight?”

Eleanor smiles beatifically at him and pets his face, caresses his cheek, and says, “yes, yes, darling,” and he stifles his moans around her nipple, shoulders hunched as he curls inward with the intensity of his orgasm.

"Love you," he murmurs, afterwards, into her hair. It just feels right. "I mean, that's not-- that's not why I do this, but-- I love you."

"Love _you_ ," Eleanor tells him. "That's why I do this."

 

**

 

"Don't you dare rub off into the mattress," Eleanor giggles into the skin between Louis' shoulderblades, and for a moment, just a moment, his thighs quiver with the want of it. There's something steely in her voice, though, beneath the mirth, that lets him know it's not a joke, even though he lets himself huff a laugh in response.

"You're pushing me into it, love," he says, voice breaking. "I can't be held responsible for what happens."

"Mmm," is all she says in response, rolling her hips down onto the curve of his arse, shifting from side to side to get more pressure where she likes it. "Just tell me when you're close; no coming, yet." She squeezes him a bit around the hips with her thighs where she has him straddled, rocking them both as she thrusts against him, slippery from her own arousal, and Louis' fingers curl into the sides of the pillow he's pressed his face into.

Eleanor stretches her arms out, her hands trailing over the line of his triceps until they come to rest on his forearms, which she grips for leverage, not quite holding him down as her breath quickens. Her breath is hot on his back and Louis lifts his hips off the bed, pushes back against her with his arse. It's both to help her out and to put some distance between his cock and the sheets because her rhythm for getting off is his rhythm for getting off, and he suspects she knows that. "No, no," she chides him in a harsh voice, panting, "you won't be cheating like that," pulling her hands back and sliding one down to pinch him on the hip until he drops down again and has to bite back a moan. But she's that much closer, now, and that's why Louis lifts his head to look back at her, confused, when she sits back and climbs up off of him.

"Did you--" he shakes his head. "I didn't miss it, did I?"

"Stay right there," Eleanor says sharply, closing her eyes, and from where he lays he can't see her hand, but he can see the tension in her shoulders and hear the slick sound that tells him she's touching herself. He watches her face, her bitten lip, and squeezes his thighs together and is struck with a sense of regret as her chest heaves with her breath and she comes, whimpering, fucking herself on her fingers and not touching him at all.

"Sorry," he blurts, suddenly flustered, when she's come down again and levels him with a gaze. He's oddly struck by how everything feels just slightly off now that Eleanor didn't share this with him. "I'm-- I probably shouldn't have, I just--"

"You're right; you shouldn't have," Eleanor says in a flat voice, and leaves his view for a moment, walking past him around the bed. "I think I wasn't clear enough," she says, softer now, as she sits by his side. She puts a hand on the small of his back. She smells of sex, of her pussy. "I said you couldn't rub off, and you didn't. But you knew you weren't meant to try to get out of it, didn't you?"

He ventures a small smile at her, uneasy, and clears the roughness out of his throat. "You're too quick for me, El," he says, and when she returns the smile, it's as though nothing happened between them.

"Just quick enough, Lou," she says, kissing him lightly on the cheek and then lovingly on the mouth, and she climbs back onto the bed with him. Together they crawl under the sheets, arms wrapped around each other tightly, murmuring and stroking one another until they fall asleep.

He doesn't come. He doesn't ask.

 

**

 

"I wanna try something," Eleanor says, all dead weight spread out over Louis' back after their orgasms, a fine sheen of sweat between them.

"I thought we _just_ tried something." Louis' voice is shaky, but he still laughs, because it's what Eleanor almost always says now, and what she said before this, before she managed to get herself off rubbing her clit on his arse. She seems constantly determined to master one thing and then move on to another immediately after. Or maybe, he considers - thinking of the way Eleanor had reached around after she'd come and, finding him still hard, stroked his cock, petting his hair and muttering praise in his ear until he striped the sheets and made a mess of her hand - maybe she is waiting for _him_ to master it first.

"Mmm," Eleanor turns her head and kisses his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

He shrugs. "I like new things," he says, and he'd like to be more interested in what she might have to offer, but to be fair, he can only go so often. "'M just... not sure I'll be good for anything just yet."

"You don't have to," Eleanor says, and raises herself up over him on her way to the nightstand. "You just have to trust me."

"I think I can manage that," he says, reaching out and catching her round the waist to tug her back down to him for a kiss. She laughs as she stumbles into him, one hand clutching the bottle of lube she'd bought when they snuck round a sex shop in hats and shades, giggling at sparkly purple dildos and pretending to smack each other with them.

"Just lay still," she tells him when he releases her, and then crawls back to straddle the backs of his thighs, and he's back to experiencing everything by touch again; he's good at this, likes the unpredictability of it. If he's honest, sometimes he gets a bit too excited, anticipating what she'll do next, imagining what she looks like. Eleanor trails her finger from the middle of his back down the line of his spine and then through the cleft of his arse, and he squeezes his cheeks together a little, sensitive. He can still feel where she'd pressed her clit against him, can feel where the wetness she'd spread all over him has dried. "Shhh, shhh," she says, although he hasn't made a sound of his own yet. "Shhh," she says again, and pushes her finger a little harder between his cheeks, slips it down a bit farther.

Louis laughs a little, self conscious. "Hey," he says. "Not really sure what's interesting down there."

Eleanor pauses thoughtfully, withdrawing her finger, and as he holds his breath, he hears the cap of the lube being flipped. "You're sensitive," she says.

"Isn't everyone?" he asks. "It doesn't normally get a lot of attention."

Her finger's back, cool with lube that drips down his crack when she eases her finger back into it. She's not touched him properly yet, but she clearly means to, and he can't seem to loosen enough to let her get to it. "Open up for me, sweetheart," she says, and he tries, slides his legs a little wider apart between her thighs, bears down a bit, but every time she moves her finger he tightens up again and she hasn't even worked her index finger in past the first knuckle before they're both sighing in frustration.

"You're having a hard time," Eleanor says. "Are you tired?"

"No," Louis says, and just then he hates the whine in his voice. He can do this, he can get this right. He thinks he could even get hard again in a few minutes, if she keeps touching him like this. "Try again."

She smooths her hand over one arse cheek, kneading the flesh gently with her fingers. "I think you need something extra," she says, with finality, and smacks his arse with the flat of her palm. It's a light enough touch, startles him more than it stings, but he jolts with the shock of it and turns his head to look at her.

The second blow lands on the other cheek before the " _Ey?_ " he'd planned to say dies on his lips, and Eleanor rubs her hands over his cheeks once more, lube bottle forgotten, and spanks him again, one on each cheek. "El," he says, breathless.

"Shhh," Eleanor says, and punctuates it with a slap, and another rub. "No more talking," and again, "you're fine," and this time when she kneads her fingers into his cheeks he can feel the warmth where her hand came down just prior. Louis presses his cheek to the pillow and closes his eyes and blows out into it. He's fine, Eleanor said. He didn't do anything wrong. She's doing this for a reason. He trusts her. It's starting to sting between smacks now, and she's not hitting him in quite the same spot every time, beating down more and more regularly like rain that goes from spitting to drizzles, sharper and more frequent. She continues to rub his skin, too, friction-warm palms smoothing circles over him, up to the small of his back, down to his thighs where he feels too intensely to be ticklish just now.

It goes on for a while and he loses track of the time, sensation concentrated on the anticipation of the next blow and the next soothing, reassuring touch. His breathing is ragged and he feels he can't quite catch a breath and when Eleanor slides a wet finger down the crack of his arse and pushes in, she meets little resistance. She sinks into him to the second knuckle and withdraws, and Louis melts into her touch when she leans up over him, cooing, "just what you needed, yeah? You just needed to loosen up for me, you're all right."

He can only nod, aware that she hasn't given him permission to speak yet, but he doesn't think he could even if she had. There's a lump in his throat and he's still struggling to breathe and he realises, when Eleanor makes a startled sound and touches his cheek with the back of her hand, that he's been blinking back tears.

"You're crying," Eleanor says, and he shakes his head because he's not, he's not upset, it'll stop, he just needs to breathe, just needs to catch his breath. "Talk to me, Louis," she insists. "Let it out - it won't stop until you let it out--"

"I'm fine," he croaks, and he thinks, maybe if he lets go a little, if he can just get past the lump in his throat, maybe he really will be fine. He turns his face into the pillow and takes a shuddering breath-- and it's as though something unfurls in his chest and a horrible sob escapes and a fat tear rolls down his cheek and he's only vaguely mortified, Eleanor's body pressed up against his back, holding on to his shaking shoulders as he wails into the fabric. He can't stop, doesn't want to, the pain and warmth from the spanking not yet faded to a dull ache, but Eleanor's arms around him, the trust she has in him - that much is real.

She holds him until he's calmed, breath hitching and words slurring when she asks again and again if he's all right, into the night and long after she's pulled the sheets over him, after she's come to him with a glass of water and wiped his face with a warm flannel, long after she's buried her face in his back and showered him with praise. She asks if he's all right, and he says yes.

 

**

 

Louis has asked Eleanor exactly once what she thought he should wear - two t-shirts clutched to his chest and a pair of jeans thrown over the edge of the bed - and when he did, she'd simply laughed.

"We're not like that, Lou," she'd said. "You don't want me to take charge of your entire life."

 

**

 

"How often do you wank, Lou?" Eleanor asks, around the straw of her frappucino, and Louis snorts a laugh.

"Well, there go all my secrets," he says drily, though if he's honest, he's quite delighted she can still catch him off-guard with a question.

"You haven't got any secrets," Eleanor points out. "I hear you joking with the lads about it all the time. Half the time you're doing it in front of the fans, with your," she gestures, "microphone cocks and erection innuendo."

"To be fair, our _name_ is an erection innuendo," Louis tells her, "and we make blowjob jokes, babe, not wanking jokes. It's important you know the difference." He reaches out and takes one of her hands, freezing cold fingers wet from the condensation on her cup. "You already know how often I get blowjobs, yeah?" he says, raising his eyebrows at her and tucking in his chin as he looks down pointedly, in case she'd like to increase his count.

Eleanor's mouth quirks in a smile and she cocks an eyebrow, rolling her eyes at him. "Wanking," she says pointedly, pulling her hand free and pushing him back by the shoulder. "How often? Daily?"

"Yes, of _course_ daily," he says, mockingly. He shrugs. "Twice if I'm _really_ lucky, if I have loads of time? I get it in when I can."

"And then you're with me," Eleanor concludes.

"And then I'm with you," he agrees, stepping back into her space. He slides his hand behind her neck, beneath the curtain of her hair, and she tilts her head back into it, raising her eyebrows in challenge.

"I'd like you to stop," Eleanor says, and Louis can't exactly say he's surprised.

"Stop," he repeats, trying to choose his words carefully and not think about the wank he had that morning, in the shower, like it might be his last, "entirely?"

"Yes, let's try for a week," she says, as though she's asking him to give up sweets, and it's on the tip of his tongue to ask who she means when she says _"let's,"_ to ask what _she'll_ be doing all week, but he knows without her saying so that this isn't like a bargain or a bet or the typical joke they exchange. If he does this, he's doing this for her, and she'll be so pleased with him if he pulls it off that no argument comes to mind.

"Is it just, you know," he mimes aiming his cock with his free hand, "the actual _coming_ that's not allowed, or am I meant to keep my hands off as well?"

Eleanor grins at him. "Think of it like having a wee: two shakes and you're good, three and you're playing with yourself and it's best to avoid it."

Louis shifts uncomfortably at that, pressing his thumb into the underside of her jaw. It's like pink elephants; ask him to think about not wanking, and suddenly he's thickening in his pants. "For a week," he reiterates, and bites his lip. "I can do that."

"I know you can," Eleanor says, and sets down her frap, beckoning him even closer with her fingers. She's careful to keep her fingers pressed to the fabric of his trousers until they're drier and warmer, careful not to touch his skin as she kneels, tugs open his flies. "You're always hard before I even get to you," she laughs, eyeing his erection through his pants, and he grins down at her, unashamed and giddy, because he might not tomorrow, but tonight, he will get to come. 

"I'm just excitable that way, I guess," he says, and though her lips are cold when they close around his cock, he finds he doesn't mind at all.

 

**

 

After three days without coming, Louis starts to feel he may have made a terrible mistake. He's usually kept so busy that he doesn't notice at first, not unfamiliar with falling into bed without sex at the end of a day of promotional work, rehearsals, and performances. Still, he's not realised the central role orgasms play in his life until he misses the experience of wanking idly in the toilet whilst contemplating cereal for breakfast.

"What do you think you'll have, Lou?" Eleanor calls over to him, hand over the receiver with room service on hold.

"I don't know," he says, sullen, stood in his boxers staring blankly into the mirror. "I don't care."

Zayn thinks Eleanor doesn't like giving head. Niall thinks Louis' into anal and Eleanor won't oblige. Liam suspects they're into bondage, and Harry asks, gently, "did you... you know," he gestures, "on her face?"

"She's not angry with me," Louis says, "we're fine," and no one believes him, because everyone can tell that he's not getting laid. He might be being a bit obvious.

He derails two interviews and gets told off during rehearsals for being distracted but he manages to pull it together for their show and that, Louis thinks, has earned him the right to get completely pissed in reward.

He lines up beers for the boys to drink while they play Fifa and won't let them stop until all are gone. "I feel sorry for you, actually," Louis says to Zayn and Niall, when he and Harry cruise to yet another victory over them. "I can't even feel my fingertips anymore and we're still better than you."

"I carried you a bit that last time, to be honest," Harry says, pulling down the corners of his mouth with his fingers because when he's drunk he can't seem to manage to frown without assistance.

"And that's teamwork," Louis declares, slapping Harry on the back.

"Shouldn't you be off with your girlfriend or something?" Zayn asks him, and Louis sits up, carefully extracting himself from the cords of the controller.

"That's right," he says, "I should," stumbling to his feet with a hand on Harry's shoulder to keep his balance. "I'm off, then, lads. Harry," he points. "You know what to do."

"I'll make you proud!" Harry calls after him as he steps out into the hall.

Eleanor is curled up at the head of their bed, reading a book and watching the telly when Louis returns to their room. "Els," he says, and climbs up from the foot of the bed to meet her, laying out flat with his head by her knee. The telly is distractingly loud, or it's too bright in the room, or both. "You can't both watch the telly and read," he complains. "You only have one set of eyes; you have to choose."

"I _am_ reading, really," Eleanor tells him. "It's just the adverts are interesting."

Louis paws at her bare thigh, pushing at the hem of her pajama top. "You're wearing too many clothes," he says. "You ought to be naked."

Eleanor laughs. "You'd think that'd make it harder on you, wouldn't it?"

"Funny," Louis says, laughing mirthlessly. "Funny you should mention hard." He lowers his head, rests his cheek on the sheets. "I am, a bit."

"Yeah?" Eleanor says sympathetically, placing her hand on his hair.

"Just a bit," he says, holding up his forefinger and thumb a half inch apart. 

"Do you feel like you need to stop?" she asks him.

"No," Louis says. "I'm not hard _all_ the time."

"You can, you know," Eleanor says. "Stop, I mean. If it's ever too much for you. Just tell me, is all."

"I don't," Louis repeats. "I don't need to stop." He lets her pet his hair and watches ridiculous adverts on the telly until his erection goes away and it isn't that he doesn't miss it. He just loves this more.

 

**

 

Their last show of the week is a triumph, a perfect storm with the crowd and the boys on a feedback loop of energy and mutual admiration, Zayn smashing his riffs and Niall leaping victoriously across the stage. Backstage, Louis grabs Harry by the face and kisses him wetly on the cheek, pulls Liam close and twirls him in a clumsy waltz with two leads. 

"Well, congratulations on the sex," Liam says mildly, blinking as Louis spins him out and releases him with a bow.

"Someone's back in the good graces of the missus," Zayn adds, knowingly.

"She's not been angry with me," Louis protests feebly, his face in Niall's shoulder as he squeezes Niall tight.

 

**

 

"Please tell me I'm going to have an orgasm tonight," Louis says when he gets back to their room, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his joggers to keep from touching himself.

"You're going to have an orgasm tonight," Eleanor says, looking up from her book.

"Brilliant," Louis says, as he crosses the room. "I'll be having a wank in the shower if you need me." He stops in front of the toilet door and turns to see that she hasn't moved, her attention back on the book in her hands. "Shower with me, babe?" he offers, though as far as he's concerned, it's a standing offer.

"No, not in the shower," Eleanor tells him, without looking up. "And no wanking in there, either. I'll have something for you after."

He lets his head fall back against the door frame in frustration and pulls his hands out of his pockets because if he's honest, avoiding touching isn't actually any easier through the thin material of his joggers after all. "I might need you to-- watch and make sure," he says. "That I don't, like, get off accidentally."

She glances up again. "I'm really sure you won't," she says, raising her eyebrows with a smirk.

"Maybe _you'll_ get off accidentally," he suggests.

"The quicker you come back, the quicker you'll come," Eleanor says.

She has him stretch out on his stomach on the bed, taking the time to arrange him to her liking, saying "willie down, darling, I know you; I can't have you rubbing off on your stomach before I've even got started."

"There comes a point," Louis tells her, "where it doesn't really matter _where_ the willie is. I don't think it needs much help as it is."

"I know, and I wanted you that way. I wanted you to be too turned on to be nervous," she explains, smoothing her hand down his back, and Louis chuckles.

"I think I was there two days ago, love," he says. He props himself up on his elbows and turns his head to watch her settle over his thighs, and his stomach flips, full of butterflies. "Are you-- you're not gonna spank me, are you?" he asks apprehensively, feeling flush from his neck to his hairline.

Eleanor pauses and tilts her head thoughtfully. "I'm gonna finger you," she says levelly, and then a glint appears in her eyes as her voice lowers. "Why, do you _want_ me to spank you?"

He swallows, throat suddenly gone dry. "Not..." he shakes his head. "Not if you don't have to," he says carefully, and her face softens into a smile as she runs her palms over his arse cheeks.

"You're fine," she says, and flips the cap of the lube. "Just relax for me," she tells him, "lay flat," and when he turns his head back to rest it on the pillow, he feels a small dribble of lube at the crack of his arse a moment before her finger follows.

This much is familiar, in uncomfortable ways, Louis painfully aware of how tight he'd been, how Eleanor had got him to open up to her fingers before. He can feel the same apprehension when she pets around his hole this time, the same desire to clench up on instinct, and yet he wants to let her in, frustrated by the resistance of his own body. "I can't--" he says. "I'm sorry, I--"

"Here, darling," Eleanor says, delivering a stinging blow across one cheek, and he dips his head, breathing out. "Just a few, yeah?" she says, slapping the other, "you'll remember you _can_." She spanks him with just the one hand, keeping one finger pressed against him, working it in as he fights not to buck away from her. It's over before he expected, just a minute or two and a slight warming to his arse; he breathes deeply through his nose and Eleanor sinks into him to the second knuckle, a strange, wiggling thing to have inside of him.

"Thanks," he chokes out, on a shuddery breath. "This feels... a bit weird," he adds. Her finger, the strange sense of satisfaction in his chest, the way Eleanor's drawn focus from his aching cock to his arse, to her hands on him -- it's all very strange.

Eleanor presses her free hand into the base of his spine and quests around in his arse with her finger, pushing down into his prostate. "There we go," she says, hitting a rhythm, and Louis spreads his thighs just a bit beneath her, trying to get a handle on the full feeling he's getting, the way his cock starts to feel stretched in his own skin. She rubs his tailbone soothingly, saying, "it's like you were pushing me out before, and now you're pulling me in," and he huffs a laugh, turns his face into the pillow. It's nice, though, less urgent than being wanked, and he doesn't feel like he _needs_ to come anymore. It doesn't make him want to rock back onto her finger any less, though.

"Second finger's gonna be a stretch," Eleanor warns him, and then it's there, pushing up against her first finger and tugging at the edges of his hole, just enough to burn despite the lube she's added. Louis breathes out and lets the way she's teasing his prostate keep him open, lets her continue and curl her fingers down and lets himself start to get heady with the warm pleasure of it, starts to get vocal.

"S'good," he says, low in his throat, and squeezes the pillow under his head, groaning a little when Eleanor squeezes one cheek, kneads it. He's not aware of the exact moment when he realises his erection is flagging but his breathing is still coming quicker, that he's still responding to Eleanor's touch, feeling fuller and warmer and the intensity has ramped up somehow, in a way that it doesn't often, when he's having a wank. "Is that--" he swallows. "D'you have three fingers in?"

"No, you're too tight for that right now, Lou," she says, working faster now, fingers beckoning, and he can hear the wet sounds her hand is making, almost like - god, almost like when he's fucking her with his fingers. Eleanor is pushing down on him with steadily more weight and all he wants is for her to be rougher, to rub him harder, or more, or-- she squeezes his arse again and he moans, pulls his arms inward and under him, curls his hands beneath his chin.

"Harder," he mumbles, as his thighs start to tremble. "I think I need--" he bites back another moan, makes an effort to bring his legs back closer together, torn between wanting to move enough for Eleanor to make him stop and half afraid it will just make _her_ stop, and then he realises the sheets are wet beneath him. He heaves a broken sigh as his sensitised thighs rub through the patch where he's been steadily leaking pre-come, and it's momentarily alarming, more wetness than he's ever had before coming, and he's not even fully hard anymore. He frees one hand and gropes around behind him blindly, reaching for Eleanor's and when he finds it, he grabs at her wrist desperately.

"What do you need, darling?" Eleanor asks, rock steady though he's falling apart. "Talk to me, Louis; what do you need?"

"I'm," he tries again, his mind foggy, overwhelmed with the feel of her, with the sound of the two of them, his body going taut with stimulation. "I think I'm--" and he comes, shaking, keening, clenching around her fingers.

 

**

 

"What if I had a cock?" Eleanor asks him thoughtfully one afternoon at her flat, around a mouthful of sandwich.

Louis sets down his coke and raises his eyebrows at her. "I think you would look very different naked," he responds. 

"It's just, sometimes I get the feeling you'd like more than my fingers," Eleanor says carefully, and Louis snorts and shakes his head dismissively, feeling his face heat up as he recalls himself asking her to go deeper and finding she couldn't reach any further.

"It's all right, El," he says. "I don't--" 

"Because I've been shopping," she starts, and Louis huffs a laugh.

"Three words to strike fear in a man's heart," he says, but she holds up a finger to wait as she chews. She gets up from the table and rushes out to the foyer where they haven't finished bringing their bags in, and when she returns she's carrying a box under her arm and a sex toy in each hand; both sleek, tapered, one pronged rather questionably.

Louis raises his eyebrows. "His and hers?" he guesses.

"On or off," she answers, and flicks a switch with her right hand, causing the tapered dildo to buzz to life.

"No," Louis says emphatically, nearly knocking his drink over as he holds up his hands in protest. "I'm not having anything buzzing in my arse, thanks."

"We don't need to use it inside," Eleanor says. "We can use it round the edges to loosen you up, or just, like, tickle your taint," she jabs it at him like a fencing sword. "Use it on your nipples maybe--"

"You could use it to massage my neck," he suggests, waggling his eyebrows. "You know, its _intended_ uses--"

"I bought this in an adult sex toy shop," Eleanor laughs. "These _are_ its intended uses. And then," she continues, "for later on down the line," and she takes the top off the box, pulling out a much larger, flesh-coloured dildo.

"Fucking hell," Louis breathes.

Eleanor fumbles with it for a moment, fingers grappling with the black material attached at the base of the dildo until she's righted it, and pushes back from the table enough to hold it up to her waist, fingers looped through what Louis can now see is a harness. "Yeah?" she asks off-handedly. "Not right now, of course."

"It's-- Jesus, El," Louis says, staring at the length of it. At the _girth_ of it. "I-- I don't think I can--"

"You've taken four fingers," Eleanor says, and folds her hand into a duckbill to illustrate.

"Your hands are _tiny_ ," Louis says, gesturing at her. "I think I'm _jealous_. How dare you bring out my competition at the dinner table?"

"Well, it's for later, anyway," Eleanor repeats, and tucks it away before Louis loses his nerve to even look at it.

He reaches out and takes the vibrator from her, eyeing it warily. "I _am_ a bit curious, though, if I'm honest," he says, working up the nerve to get to the point. "Like, how you do it with just the buzzing. If it can actually work without having to move it around a lot, like your fingers."

"I think you just set yourself up a goal, Lou," Eleanor says.

He bites his lip and slowly hands it back to her, feeling suddenly very shy. "I reckon I did."

 

**

 

"That was the worst orgasm I've ever had in my life," Louis howls into the crook of his arm, his voice hoarse.

"Lou," Eleanor coos, stroking his side as he trembles back down to earth. She eases the vibrator out of him gently, and he can feel himself clenching hard even as it leaves him. "You actually _had_ an orgasm."

"The _worst_!" Louis yells, and hiccups. The hairs on his forearm are wet with his tears and and he feels weak, heavy-limbed and cold. He's never come like that, felt like it was wrenched from him while he thrashed, almost painful in its intensity. He feels like he came for minutes, though it couldn't be possible, _shouldn't_ be possible. He may have said... _things_. He turns on his side and draws his knees up, breath still hitching.

Eleanor trails a hand down his spine soothingly. "We'll try a lower setting next time," she says.

 

**

 

When they're home in London - properly home, Louis thinks, in his new home with Eleanor's things in the closet the half year she's not at Uni, the foods she likes in the cupboards - Louis wakes Eleanor up by nudging his hardon against her arse and kissing through her hair at the nape of her neck. 

He slides a hand under her shoulders and leans over her, kissing her on the nose so that she has to wrinkle it and acknowledge him. She grins up at him, giggling. "Make me breakfast?" she says.

"Sure," Louis says, and rolls over to get out of bed. "What'll it be," he offers, as their usual joke when he's tasked with cooking breakfast. "Eggs Benedict and toast? Or hard-boiled eggs and charred things?"

"Oh, eggs Benedict and toast sounds lovely," Eleanor recites dutifully, accepting the arm he's holding out to link with hers.

"Hard-boiled eggs and charred things it is, then," Louis tells her, leading her out of the bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen. It's not that he's ever really made rubbish of breakfast - discounting times when he got distracted and left the toast in too long, or put the kettle on without any water in - but he likes to remind Eleanor that she's putting the quality of her breakfast experience in dodgy hands if she dares ask.

And since she asked instead of waiting for him to offer, Louis makes it a point to get it right, batting her hands away when he's in front of the stove and setting the water to boil properly.

"Eggs are sorted," Louis announces, serving them up on plates, "and your toast'll be ready in-- hello," he says, as Eleanor grips him suddenly by the hips and turns him away from the cupboard, sinking to her knees before him. She folds down his pajama bottoms and takes his cock into her mouth and for a moment Louis flails, spatula waving as he tries to figure out what to do with his hands. "All right," he says finally, setting it down on the counter beside him and gripping the edge with that hand. "Erm, the toast might... not survive, just so you're aware."

Eleanor doesn't comment, taking him down halfway and then some, bobbing her head and looking up at him obscenely through her lashes, cheeks hollowing as she sucks him. Distantly he hears a roaring sound, and remembers he's got the kettle on for tea, but with Eleanor lapping the underside of his cock with her tongue, he can think of no better way to perk himself up in the morning. He'd forego the tea entirely if it wouldn't be such a travesty to have breakfast without.

The slurping sound Eleanor makes when she pulls off him to lick at his length has him rocking on his heels, and he reaches over her head to hold on to the counter with his other hand, too, giving him a bit of leverage. She encourages it, palming his hips with her hands and flexing her fingers into his arse, pulling him in to match her rhythm as she sucks. It's a bit slow for him, but it works in a hurry, and he keeps it up when she lets go of him to stroke the length of him her mouth can't reach. He's close now, the smell of toast filling the room and the water in the kettle starting to wheeze on its way to a whine.

Louis braces himself with his hands and spreads his legs a little farther and leans over to press his forehead to the countertop, watching Eleanor work and letting himself get off on the sight of her as much as the feel of her. He swallows hard and thinks, _there goes the toast_ , and mumbles, just barely audibly, "I'm gonna come, love."

Eleanor closes her eyes and pulls back and off of him entirely, rising to her feet with her finger tracing the outline of her lips. "No, darling," she says, simply. "Not this morning." She looks utterly unruffled, and Louis' arms tremble as he stares down the length of his body to his cock, jutting out as he makes one last feeble thrust into midair.

He looks up at her in disbelief, mouth still open, still panting from hanging over the precipice, and she gives him a challenging look in response. Her hands are steady at her sides, but Louis knows those hands, knows those fingers and she could have them inside herself in an instant, get herself off and make him watch and not let him touch if he protests, if he pushes back too hard.

He bites his lip, hard. "Yeah," he says, voice rough, and clears his throat. The kettle starts to squeal, but he needs a moment, cock out and hard and slick with Eleanor's spit. "The-- the toast is--" he starts, distractedly.

"I'll take care of that, sweetheart," Eleanor says, and swiftly tugs his pajama bottoms back up and over his cock, gently so as not to jostle him. "You were good, that was perfect," she says, leaning up to place her mouth near his ear, and a flush of pleasure creeps up his neck. He's only vaguely aware of her bustling about to take care of the rest of breakfast, until there's toast on the plate in front of him and tea steaming from a mug nearby. He feels a bit light-headed and loved up in a way that's nothing to do with his erection, and by the time Eleanor takes his hand in hers and leads him over to the table to eat, he can barely supress his smile. Eleanor stands behind him and wraps her arms around his shoulders and makes sure he starts eating before she leaves to takes her seat; she calms him and soothes him and when his erection goes down, Louis allows himself to feel satisfied.

They curl up together on the sofa, wrapped around each other as they flip through shit programmes on the telly, until Eleanor taps him on the side of the head and says, "I was thinking we could go shopping today."

 

**

 

Louis can no longer help thinking of shopping as foreplay.

He and Eleanor stride through the paps and stop for the fans, Eleanor two steps ahead; his grip on her hand tight like he's afraid she might slip away, her fingers loose as she pulls him along behind her. When they get back to the house, Eleanor wraps her arms around Louis' neck in the foyer, the bags she's gripping in each hand draped over his back.

"I want you to fuck me," she says against his lips as they kiss leisurely, "right here." She swallows his groan, letting him chase her mouth with kisses as she drags her face away from his. "I want you to come," she says, and he buries his face in the side of her neck.

"It might be embarrassingly quickly," Louis whispers, his hands slipping down momentarily into the waistband of her shorts before he unfastens them and she helps him push them and her pants down, then off. He holds her steady with his hands on her waist as she steps out of both, and lowers himself to his knees, mouthing over her smooth stomach because he owes her this; there's no way he'll last long enough for her to get off. He noses the skin above her clit and licks a stripe up from her lips to the hood, sucking it gently into his mouth and letting her push up against him; she's already so wet and he wonders if she planned this, if she'd been thinking about having him fuck her the entire time they'd been shopping. Maybe she'd been thinking of it while she sucked him off, anticipating making him wait for it. He's hard in his pants already and it's an effort not to kneel into it, trying to get pressure against the seam of his jeans.

Eleanor comes quickly, which would seem to answer that, and she's pushing a condom into his hands even as he rises to his feet. He slides into her, hitching her legs up by his sides and then supporting himself against the wall with one hand as he thrusts, and they kiss sloppily, panting into one another's faces, flyaway strands of Eleanor's hair tickling Louis' face. She's hot and wet and clenching around him, and his arm strains with tension as he breathes, "'M coming--"

"Come, yeah," Eleanor tells him, and he leans into the wall as he does, bracing himself with his knee and hitching Eleanor's body up with each erratic buck of his hips. He bites a mark into her collarbone and then the corner of her jaw, and they breathe together and giggle a bit as Eleanor's leg slips out of his grasp. She reaches down and holds his cock gingerly before it can slide out of her, rolling the condom off carefully and tying it herself to bin later. "My turn," she declares, kissing him quickly on the side of the mouth as she ducks out from under his arm and exits the foyer.

"No," Louis says, sitting down on the ground and letting himself fall backward. "Leave me here to die."

"I've plans for you," Eleanor says, and the carpet is rough under his bare arse, so Louis stifles a sigh and gets up again to pull up his trousers and stumble after her.

He follows after her to their bedroom, where Eleanor's already pulling her shirt up and off, and he comes up behind her, reaches out to trace the bumps of her ribcage, the curve of her hip. She turns to him with a smile. "You too," she says. "Kit off." She unfastens her bra with one hand as she stoops by the bed and Louis gets out of his clothes, climbs on the mattress and sits, framing her body between his knees.

"I could do you again," he offers, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his hands drape over her head, and she looks up at him as she pulls the box out from under the bed. He raises his eyebrows to cover his reflexive swallow as his stomach swoops with recognition. "Oh," he says.

"I'll get you ready," Eleanor says, opening the box and lifting the toy by its harness. "Just lay down, all right?" She stops him when he turns to get on his knees. "On your back," she says, and leans in to kiss him, tasting only faintly of coffee and caramel. Her hand trails down the side of his face to his chest and comes to rest on his stomach when he leans back, thumb stroking over the muscle when he tenses it. He tries to keep a neutral expression when her gaze flicks back up to his face, but there must be something of the panic he's feeling coming through because her shoulders slump and she tilts her head. "Sweetheart," she says, a tinge of concern in her voice. "You can't still be nervous."

He gives her a tight smile. "S'bigger than I am," he says, going for 'unaffected' but ending up somewhere near 'manic'. "Who wouldn't be intimidated?" He's thinking, too, of how it's not really _her_ \- he already knows how intimate it feels when her fingers are pushing inside him, or even when she uses a dildo and she can still rest her head right on his thighs and feel how close he is to coming. This will put Eleanor at arm's length, at least, at times when he really just wants her close.

Eleanor tuts at him as she slicks her fingers, and kneels between his spread thighs. She pets him for a while, soothing and familiar, before pressing in with her middle finger and teasing with the index. "I want to see your face while I fuck you," she murmurs, massaging his prostate and pushing down on his hip with her free hand when he rocks up against her for more. "I want to be able to kiss you. I want to be able to know what you're feeling," and she nudges his thigh with her elbow as she adds a finger, quirking a knowing smile, "even if you can't talk, yeah?" And that's-- that's a thing that's happened, once or twice with her, where Louis has got so caught up just _feeling_ and letting Eleanor tell him what he needed to do that it was like everything else grew dark and insignificant and he couldn't find the words to say "thank you," to say "I love you," to say anything at all.

She waits until Louis' breath is coming in short huffs and pants, three fingers into him, before she gives the dildo a stroke and shoots him a decisive glance. She rolls a condom on and slicks it with lube, returning to prod at him with wet fingers just to make sure she can still get them in, and then she's inching in slowly, eyes flicking from his hole to his face for reaction. Louis presses his lips together and breathes through it and he remembers that the fundamental difference between taking four fingers up the arse and taking a cock is that fingers go in one at a time. "That's," he says, nodding to himself as he becomes more certain of the verdict, "that's really big." He grimaces as the mushroom head drags past his rim, and then it's grazing his prostate and as the rest of the length of the dildo follows it becomes more familiar, the stretch and the fullness and the dull but growing pleasure.

Eleanor looms over him suddenly, her hair framing his face, breasts pressed to his chest. "Hey," he says, a bit breathless, wrinkling his nose on a laugh that she mimics. "This is, like, proper missionary position, isn't it?" He can see her hips move from here, a rolling motion similar to when she's riding him, and he reaches out to place his palm over one.

"I don't think this is what they had in mind," Eleanor grins, and glances down between them. "Is deeper okay? I still have some length, here."

Louis nods. "Yeah," he says, and as she inches even deeper, he adds, "just-- keep moving, all right?"

She lowers herself to rest on her elbows on either side of his torso. "I thought you'd like it more shallow, like with my fingers," she says. "But you're wet already."

He can feel it, smearing into the skin on his belly. "I don't think I can come again like this," he admits.

"We could try," Eleanor offers, and he shakes his head.

"Sometimes it's just nice anyway," he says.

The grin Eleanor gives him reminds Louis of himself at his most cheeky. "You forget this cock has no orgasms," she says, "and no refractory period." She pats his biceps awkwardly with her hands without raising up off her forearms. "And my arms won't get tired of fucking you, either," she adds. "I can literally go for hours."

"Jesus," Louis breathes, feeling suddenly warmer all over. Another dollop of pre-come seeps out of him and collects on his stomach. "You could touch me," he suggests.

She tilts her head, considering. "Maybe later," she says, and raises back up on her knees, pulling Louis closer, farther down on her dildo, with her hands beneath his thighs. The breath punches out of him when he feels his hips hit hers, and the harness between them, and then she's rocking into him fast, hips swivelling with strokes so long he can see the glistening length of the dildo between them when she pulls out. Every stroke is a tease to his prostate, hitting him just right and not nearly enough, and he makes little noises of protest every time, leaking and lengthening and then getting harder.

Being fucked like this, Louis can see how it's affecting Eleanor without her touching herself; her bitten lip and the way her face has gone red, her breasts swaying as she thrusts. She flicks her hair back and Louis can see the strands that stick to her temples as she works up a sweat. He can only think of how to get more pressure on his cock now, wants to be sandwiched between Eleanor inside him and something wonderful and firm over him. He thinks he might like to get off like this always; he'd like to try. He pulls Eleanor back down to him, deeper and closer, and when she leans over and kisses him, he turns his head, starting to lose coordination. "Please," he says. "Please touch me, please--" and it's this he needs, the warmth of her body above him, her hands on his face grounding him so he doesn't float away.

"Oh, Lou," Eleanor says, and her hand trembles against his cheek. "Oh, I know, darling," she says, "here," letting her weight rest against him as she reaches down and encircles his cock with loose fingers, knuckles brushing both their stomachs. She tugs him once, twice, and Louis arches into it, gasping as he comes, sinking his fingers into her hair.

"Love you," he mumbles into the side of her head as she slows. He shivers with an aftershock and Eleanor props herself back up over him, watching his face carefully, breathing heavily through her nose as she worries her lip between her teeth.

"Love _you_ ," she says, finally, in a choked voice, then pushes her cock - and it is hers, isn't it, Louis thinks, she fucked him with it and made him come with it and he doesn't see it the way he sees their other toys at all anymore - back in to the hilt of the harness, making him wince a bit at his own oversensitivity. "I'm going to keep on," she says. "I think you can go for a bit longer."

Louis nods as he breathes out slowly, letting his eyes fall closed, and stretches his arms behind him to grip at the mattress. "Yeah," he says, and braces himself. He can do anything. "All right."

 

**

 

"I think we should name it," Louis says, after, as Eleanor carefully folds her cock into its box, clean and dry and ready for use again. "All the good sex toys have their own names, don't they?"

"A fair few of them do, I suppose," Eleanor says.

"What's this called in the shop, then?" Louis asks, then changes his mind. "Nevermind, don't tell me. I can do better than the shop."

"Wait-- I'll want to write this down," Eleanor says, and reaches into the nightstand, grimacing as she gropes around until she's victoriously brandishing the silver Louis One Direction gel pen. "Continue."

"I think we should call it..." Louis taps his mouth with his index finger. "Mr. Winkles," he declares.

Eleanor's entire face scrunches with the effort not to burst out laughing. "Mr. Winkles," she repeats.

"Yes," Louis says. "And we can talk about it suggestively in the company of our friends. 'Think we might take Mr. Winkles out for a bit of fun, eh, Els?' No one will ever suspect what we're talking about. Or, they'll think we're being exactly as rude as we are and that we're talking about a little friend for you."

"Or," Eleanor suggests, "they'll think we're talking about your penis."

He pauses to consider that, and the name he suggested, with increasing horror. "No!" he protests. "No! Then we should call it-- The Monstrosity! Or-- or, Collossus." Eleanor shakes her head, her shoulders trembling with laughter as she uncaps the pen. "The Destroyer?" he offers, as she writes _Mr. Winkles_ in silver along the harness straps. He's never going to live this down.

 

**

 

"I'll be honest," Louis says, when Eleanor pulls back from their kiss to nibble under his chin. "I-- I have no idea what's just happened for the past half hour." There are zombies on the screen, and corpses, corpses everywhere. He wants to care, genuinely wants to be concerned about the characters of the living because he's invited Zayn and Perrie over for Sunday dinner and DVD watching, but he's slept jetlag off all day and Eleanor's fingers are pressing into the dip of his spine beneath the waistband of his pants. So he doesn't, and he isn't.

"Looks like you two need a room," Zayn says delightedly, looking at Louis from over Perrie's shoulder, as though he doesn't have a hand up the front of her jumper. "I can catch you up later," he offers. "I'll show you some of the older episodes first, yeah?"

"Sure," Louis says, over a gunshot and the wet sound of a body hitting the floor. "Getting tired here, mate," he says pointedly.

"Don't let us keep you up," Zayn says, managing to watch the telly while Perrie nuzzles the side of his face. She pulls back and punches him in the shoulder. "Ow, what?" he protests. "They have a bedroom, you know--"

"I'm sorry, Louis," Perrie grins at him, unfolding her legs and looking down to check her jumper before she turns to him fully and stands. " _We'll_ be heading up to bed. Me and the girls have an early start tomorrow, anyway."

"Thanks, love," Louis says, as he stands to hug her. "You know you're my favourite, right?" They kiss each other on the cheek.

"You'd be my favourite," Perrie tells him, jerking her thumb over her shoulder where Zayn's hugging Eleanor, "if it wasn't for this one." She ignores Zayn's noise of protest and holds Louis close long enough to add, softly, "don't get anything on the sofa, yeah?"

Louis grins. "We wouldn't think of it," he says, heartfelt and with a hand over his chest.

He makes a show of watching until Zayn and Perrie have reached the top of the stairs, then thumbs up the volume on the telly. "Thought those two would never go," he tells Eleanor, in mock relief. "Now we can finally watch this in peace." He giggles at her momentary look of horror and lets her take the remote from him, putting his hands up protectively as she pretends throw it. She simply presses the mute button and pulls him in to kiss again, licking into his mouth tasting of beer and roast, hands back under his jacket. As they sink to the floor in front of the sofa, Eleanor's hands push down into the back of Louis' trousers and pants, squeezing him in the confined space between skin and fabric. He lets go of her long enough to unfasten his snaps and give her room to slide a finger down the cleft of his arse, lets her tease him while he works on getting her out of her shirt and bra.

After a moment, he breaks their kiss and dislodges her hand in order to sit back on his heels, giving her an appraising look. "You know," he says slyly, "it's almost like you're getting me ready for something," and his gaze drops as he reaches beneath the sofa and pulls the box out, sliding it towards Eleanor. It's not something he'll ask for, usually, letting her decide when she'll get it out. Still, it's. Sometimes it's just nice.

Eleanor fucks him on all fours with deep jabs that hit his prostate a bit too sharply, probably, to make him come from that alone unless they're at it for a long while (and they did that, once, Eleanor fucking him for ages, until the world grew dim and the only thing that mattered was Eleanor and her cock, and the delight in her voice when she said, "I knew you could come one more time for me, Louis, you're so good, you were perfect."). She reaches around for his cock and holds her hand steady, lets him fuck into the circle of her fingers until he dips his head and groans, struggling for quiet, and then he's coming over her fingers, replacing her hand with his own to catch the rest. He lets himself collapse onto the carpet as she pulls out and frees herself of the harness; he helps get her off a minute later with his fingers down the front of her pants.

She lays down next to him with a box of tissues, her hair pooling between them, and he toys with the curly strands with one hand while she cleans the come from their fingers. "You can say it, you know," she says, before glancing up at him, making every attempt at seriousness. "You can ask for Mr. Winkles by name."

Louis curls his lip at her and closes his eyes. "No," he says, "you're so good already at knowing what I want."

"We've got our own secret language, eh?" he can feel her smile into his neck, and she tickles at his side until he grabs her hand in his and holds it.

"Yeah," Louis says. "I like all our little secrets."

 

End.

**Author's Note:**

> _#I hope she doms him_
> 
> That tumblr tag is officially the bane of my imagination.
> 
> I cannot thank everyone who encouraged me to write (and keep writing) this enough. My apologies to everyone whose inboxes I assaulted, from aliferuined to theprincessed, flimsi, l0l1taa and others. All mistakes are mine.


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